


The One That Got Away

by whatwouldvoldydo



Series: The Sidekick Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 08:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatwouldvoldydo/pseuds/whatwouldvoldydo
Summary: Hermione is a broken shell of a woman, she's a very convincing humanoid robot that's running on self-loathing. That is until she has another one of those pesky panic attacks, where she remembers how she lost the love of her life and her usual healer isn't around.This is a sequel to the Sidekick, but can be read as a stand-alone.





	The One That Got Away

“…are you listening, Madame Minister?”, the voice of her assistant managed to get through to Hermione’s ears. She forcefully pushed back the tiredness that had tried to edge its way into her field of vision and instead concentrated on the young woman sitting in front of her. It was only, because of years of practice of running purely on exhaustion and a healthy dose of self-loathing that she was able to seize up the situation and deduct what her assistant might want. Reconstructing the conversation, she assumed they had lead, she took a folder from a neat pile to her left and handed it to her assistant. As she reached over, she took a closer look at the woman and realised that she seemed tired. The poor girl had obviously tried to keep up with Hermione’s ridiculous schedule, which was basically suicide, when one wasn’t Hermione. “You know”, she started, leaning back and faking a yawn, “Those motions can wait until next week. It would be much smarter to start fresh with them after the weekend and get off work early”. Danny, her assistant, obviously wanted to protest this, bless her youthful ambition, but Hermione raised her hand and added, “Get some sleep, Danny. I need to get some too”. That was in theory true, only that she wouldn’t do it. Hermione had a nasty habit of exhausting herself to the point, where she basically fell into a coma completely on purpose, because then at least, her dreams weren’t filled with guilt and memories of Fred. It was a testimony to Danny’s exhaustion that after that sentence she didn’t put up a bigger fight. Instead, she gathered her things and assured her boss that she would be back on track on Monday. Hermione didn’t doubt her at all. She envied the younger woman for only needing a weekend to get back on track. In over two decades, Hermione still hadn’t found what it would take for her.

For a moment, she considered going home, settling in Ron’s arms and fooling herself into thinking that she loved him. But the mere thought made her nearly topple over with guilt. She wouldn’t succeed in fooling herself anyway, but Ronald would believe her for a bit at least and become hopeful again. She was already too selfish being married to him; acting as if with him, she wouldn’t be able to do it. And, as it were, he was probably off to somewhere anyway, because of some Auror business. Since the kids had both started Hogwarts, the house felt a bit too empty and at the same time stuffed with unmet expectations for them to be comfortable there. So, instead of going back to the Burrow, Hermione dug into the pile of work on her table that was a bit too small for her personal taste. She remembered, how once, shortly after she had taken over the position, Kingsley had visited her and told her that she was the only one, who complained about not having a big enough workload as Minister of Magic. She hadn’t cared to explain. Years and years of tireless working had made it so that Hermione never had to explain when she worked. People just assumed she was a workaholic. There was no reason for them to think that she was drowning out that soft, rough voice from the past in her head. Hermione Granger just gave one hundred percent in everything she did, including raising her children.

It took only thinking of supressing that voice for it to come up. Like so many times before, it happened quickly, her mind slipping back to half of her lifetime ago. She found herself engulfed in memories of the war in all its horribleness, which was bad but ok. She was over it. Only when she remembered those empty blue eyes and heard an echo of her own inhuman cry did she feel herself losing it. She felt her throat close up and those memories ringing in her ears. It wasn’t a full-blown panic attack, that much she could tell, but it was a significant flashback that was trying to render her incapable of action. More than slightly nervous, she opened the top bottom drawer of her desk, where she kept her potion prescription only to notice that it was empty. That didn’t exactly help her nerves, because she remembered all too well how her last panic attack without meds had panned out. She forcefully pushed away the fleeting memories of Harry finding her huddled in a corner screaming at him and crying about Fred, losing him all over again. Instead, she locked away the classified documents in their respective drawers with shaking hands and then left her office directly for St. Mungo’s.

She marched up to the girl in the lobby and demanded, using her official tone, because it was great at hiding her shakiness, “Where is Healer Hawking?” “Healer Hawking is not in today, Madame Minister”, the girl whispered, obviously intimidated by Hermione. She would add that to her list of reasons to hate herself later. “Why in Merlin’s name isn’t he?”, she boomed, feeling her magic gathering at her finger tips, which made her panic even more, because this wasn’t a good sign, usually. “He had a personal emergency”, the girl explained, forcing herself to stay calm, “Healer Malfoy is substituting for him, but…” Hermione had already stormed off towards the head healer’s office, but she could very well assume what the girl had said. That Healer Hawking disapproved of her seeing Malfoy, because he thought he would trigger a panic attack, because of war memories. Well, joke was on him, because her panic attacks were much more likely to be triggered by her friends anyway, as she connected them more with Fred.

Playing the with the ring on her ring finger, she found that the usual wave of calmness didn’t flood through her, which meant that she wasn’t as far from a full-blown panic attack as she had hoped to be. Hermione could already feel herself lose her grip on reality, slipping back into those memories and not being able to realise that this _wasn’t happening right now._ She heard that cry again and she wasn’t sure whether it was only her memory, or whether she was right back to it, but it ended her resolve anyway. As soon as she gave in to them, the world of her flashback crashed over her like a tidal wave and she was right back there in Hogwarts. She felt her throat close up as she cowered over Fred’s body, felt all will to live leave her. And yet, in the middle of it she felt hands that she knew hadn’t been there twenty years ago, that meant she wasn’t there right now. So, she clutched to them desperately, a silent plea in her touch to get her out of this hell.

It took what felt like an eternity for her to be able to push away the flashbacks and take in her surroundings again. She forced Fred’s dead body out of her field of vision and instead focused in on the blurry form in front of her that she dearly hoped belonged to reality. Once her eyes cleared, she was quick to realise that it was Draco Malfoy, who was tending to her. He was kneeling before her, although with a good distance away, his wand raised to restrain her obviously. “Are you with me, Hermione?”, he asked quietly, his voice extremely soft like she had never heard it before. It made her assume that he had asked several times before and she only heard it now. Not yet able to talk, she instead nodded and looked directly into his eyes, to make sure he understood that she was in the present again. As soon as he saw that, he lowered his wand and Hermione noted that feeling of restraint leave her body immediately. Healer Malfoy looked stressed, clearly trying to find if she was likely to have another panic attack then and there. It made sense, seeing as she didn’t exactly have pleasant memories of being restrained anywhere near Malfoy, what with having been tortured by his aunt. But Hermione felt nothing of the sort. The war wasn’t what triggered her, not directly anyway. “I won’t freak out, Malfoy, don’t worry”, she found herself saying.

“Alright”, he muttered in response, although he still stood up unnaturally slowly and acted as unaggressive as possible. It nearly freaked her out just how timid he acted. But then again, he was a healer and at the moment she was barely stable, so he had to tread carefully. It frustrated her, when she thought of how he was a perfectly good healer and people had always acted like he was a demon hiding under a lime green coat. God forbid, he had made mistakes as a teenager. As if everybody else hadn’t as well. Only that they had been teenagers in a time, when small mistakes blew up easily. But people thought he was the dark lord returned anyway. Her own husband would probably lose it, if he knew that Malfoy was treating her right now. “Ronald”, she suddenly exclaimed, remembering that he was of course her emergency contact, “Did you...?” She hated herself for how unpleasant her voice sounded, how unhappy the thought of Ron being here right now made her. But she couldn’t help herself; she simply didn’t want Ron with her at that point. She didn’t want to think about how selfish she was and how Ron deserved so much better and she didn’t want to see those flaming red hair on a tall frame that still wasn’t quite right. The truth was, despite what everybody thought: Her husband was much more likely to have her spiral right back down than the ex-death eater in front of her.

Malfoy, of course, caught onto her change in mood immediately and caught her wrist, putting pressure on them to keep her with him, in reality. When she glanced at him again, feeling the self-hatred lower to a hardly healthy middle ground, he answered, “I didn’t contact him”. She allowed herself another small fit of self-loathing at how she relieved she felt hearing that. Those four words rushed through her like a drug, relaxing the tension in her body. She wouldn’t have to talk to him about it. She wouldn’t have to explain. Not for a long time. For the sake of the children, she would be able to go on, she realised. Remembering, when she had seen Malfoy a little over two years ago, she wondered whether he was still together with Astoria for the same reasons. Kids and appearances. Only, when her brain started to fully function was she able to move from that train of thought and she instead started to suggest what she had heard before. “Isn’t it hospital protocol to inform an emergency contact in case of, well, emergency?”, she wondered out loud. “It is”, Malfoy replied, the two words drawn out so long that it sounded like a question rather than an answer.

It led to her once again looking directly into his eyes, only that this time she was present enough to actually see the colour. A much darker and more interesting shade than she remembered. There was such an understanding in his eyes that she felt herself well up. Kids and appearances, she thought, seeing the same in his eyes. “I thought you might prefer to not see your husband right now”, her ex-classmate provided her with an answer to her unspoken question. For a moment, that understanding scared her. What if he decided to blab or use that knowledge against her? What if he told the public and her children would hear, and she would lose them and all respect she was met with in the Ministry. It was only a moment though, before she once again saw all the answers she needed written right there on his face, written in those fine lines scattered around his face, written in worry. “You are free to go, Madame Minister”, he then declared, standing up and handing her a note he conjured out of thin air, “And may I remind you of my being pledged to confidentiality as a healer”. He smiled at her ever so slightly and she couldn’t help but smile back as she stood up, took the paper from his hand, and answered, “Thank you for your assistance, Healer Malfoy”.

* * *

 

It took only two days until Hermione met the man she had somehow managed to avoid for over two decades by sheer coincidence again. It was because the ministry was busy, and she needed to get away from the bustle, get away from it all. And as the minister of magic a magical restaurant wasn’t an option for lunch, so instead she ended up in a charming small muggle restaurant about halfway between the hospital and the ministry. She saw Malfoy, as soon as she entered the location, his silver blond hair making him stand out starkly. Although for a moment, she considered sitting down in one of the corner booths, she quickly decided on approaching Draco Malfoy instead. What damage could that do, really? After all, they weren’t on unfriendly terms and it was high time to finally put aside those old differences. That was at least what she would tell anybody who cared to ask and what she would tell herself. In reality, she was quite simply intrigued by him and by their oddly similar situation. How in heaven’s name had she gotten here? But, however that may be, she ended up having lunch with Draco and she had to admit that she didn’t hate it. On the contrary, Draco was a pleasant partner in conversation, obviously trained to be able to keep up a conversation without touching any difficult topics. And even more than that, he had a certain bitter humour to him that Hermione found utterly relatable.

“May I ask a question?”, Malfoy started out at some point, his focus in her hands, regarding them closely. “You may”, she answered distractedly, starting to fiddle with the ring on her finger. “That ring”, he pointed out the very same, which explained why he had been looking at her hand, and got her full attention, “it seems magical, but I cannot quite put my finger on it”. A bell rung in the back of her mind, reminding her that Draco was well known for his interest in magical artefacts and his large collection, which was closely supervised by the ministry. “I wouldn’t be able to tell you”, she muttered between bites, feeling a memory of Fred giving her that very ring edging in and trying to take over her mind, “It was a gift”. She could see in his eyes that he remembered her history with Fred perfectly. It was because of her seeing that that she appreciated his joking statement even more, “ _Hermione Granger_ of all people receives an heirloom and doesn’t run to the next library to find out everything she can about it. Hard to believe”. There was tentative amusement glistening in his eyes and she grinned as well. “Reducing somebody to their Hogwarts self”, she sassed, although her smile was still present, “Great idea. Especially from you, Mr. Malfoy”. He smirked in return and took another bite from his meal. After a comfortable pause, he asked, his voice so soft she could just hear it, “It’s not because of the war anymore, is it? Your prescription, I mean”. She flinched a bit at the sudden mention of it but found that she wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Carefully chewing the bite, she had taken to have some extra processing time, she finally admitted, “It never was”.

It seemed that Draco was perfectly content with that information, as he didn’t push the subject anymore. Instead they got to talking about social engagements that they had to partake in and how ridiculous it all was. Hermione found herself chuckling several times, as Draco told some anecdotes from his younger years and the great banquets thrown at Malfoy manor and how he had loathed them. Somehow, it wasn’t as difficult as it should have been for Hermione to imagine that gigantic house filled with people laughing and dancing rather than the sounds of people being tortured. She told some stories herself, of the first official social gatherings she had had to attend and how atrociously bad they had gone. The lunch break, as unlikely as it seemed, was over too quickly and as they said goodbye, and both left a few notes to cover the bill, Hermione realised that she had thoroughly enjoyed herself. She had found herself intrigued by a person, willing to carry a conversation, needing to find out more, even though she already knew so much. It had felt like something in her was waking up again. When she got home later, in an exceptionally good mood, and was met with Ron, it was only her that noticed how her real smile faltered to be replaced by a well-trained fake one, but it was enough to push her right back into a comfortable feeling of self-hate.

* * *

 

She tried getting back into the trot she had successfully lived in for two decades, but it so happened that she failed miserably. It seemed wrong, it seemed impossible. She didn’t want to go home and lie to Ron and maybe lie to herself, when she gave Ron what he deserved. After a few restless days, Hermione made a decision and wrote an encrypted message, suggesting a time and place and sent it to Draco Malfoy. It didn’t feel as wrong as it should have, or maybe it felt more wrong than it should have. Hermione wasn’t entirely sure about that, but her doubts were rendered useless, when only a few hours later she received a message in return, which agreed to the time, but suggested a different place. When that time came, she left her office and headed to the address, her hands sweating. She noticed, as she walked up to it, that this wasn’t a restaurant, but rather a private building and she rang the bell next that had D. Malfoy written under it. After a few seconds filled with anxious waiting, the door was opened, and she was face to face with Draco. He looked different, as he greeted her with a soft smile and stepped back to let her into the flat.

He took her coat and gestured towards the couch, where an open bottle of wine and a glass were placed. Only after having sat down and regarding the apartment owner closer did Hermione realise what made him look so much more comfortable and…softer. “You’re wearing sweatpants”, the words tumbled out of her mouth not giving her the slightest chance in controlling them. Draco arched his eyebrow at that, his smile turning from soft to sarcastically amused and chuckled, “Do you often feel that need to point out the obvious, Granger?” “Hermione”, she corrected him absentmindedly, not catching his put off expression that showed just how big a deal it was that she had offered him her first name. She was far too busy checking out the flat she was sat in. It was nice, clean-cut, simplistic and modern, altogether very chic in a muggle way. “Wine?”, Draco’s voice asked from somewhere in the apartment she couldn’t see. “I’d love some”, she replied, still looking around the apartment. She was ripped out of her thoughts and observations once again, when she felt the weight of another body sitting down on the couch.

Draco poured her a glass of wine, handed it to her and then picked up his own, taking a sip with a blissful expression on his face. He looked at home in this place and it made Hermione feel weirdly happy for him. If he was in a loveless marriage, he wasn’t very likely to feel at home at the Manor, but at least he felt comfortable somewhere. Unlike with her friends, Hermione didn’t feel particularly envious about that. Draco Malfoy was far from leading a perfect life, so she was more than happy about him finding some escape. It only occurred to her after some time, that her being her was maybe not entirely right. Why in heaven’s name was she in this apartment, enjoying some wine with Malfoy after a long day of work? And why was she feeling more at peace than she had in a long time? “This is weird”, she stated matter-of-factly, as soon as she had realised that. Draco shrugged, taking another sip of his wine and replied, “You suggested this”. “I suggested having a bite after work, at some restaurant neat the ministry, not drinking scrumptious red wine in your apartment, while you’re wearing _sweat pants”,_ she groaned, just getting more lost in the feeling of how incredibly inappropriate that seemed. “Still not over those, huh?”, Draco grinned, the laughter rumbling deep in the back of his throat. “Not really, no”, Hermione muttered, blushing at getting caught up on such a small stupid detail.

Trying to stop herself from obsessing, she sipped on her wine, noting that it was delicious and about twenty times better than any wine Ron had ever chosen to buy. What was she doing here again? Oh, right, she felt weirdly human and not-machine-like around Draco, because somehow that was something that her brain now thought was cool. But all those thoughts were drowned out after some time by the taste of the wine and the pleasant conversation she led with Draco. “Why did you suggest this place anyway?”, she asked somewhere on her third glass of wine, the question having bugged her ever since she received his reply. “To be perfectly honest, I was afraid of the things I would have thrown at me, if somebody saw us meeting”, he started out, a bitter smile on his lips, “Wouldn’t want people to think I am manipulating the Minister of Magic for my own benefits”. Hermione nodded thoughtfully, although it pissed her off that people thinking such was entirely too likely. How many times did Draco Malfoy have to apologize for people to give him the same benefit of the doubt they willingly gave everybody else? “And your husband hearing any rumours of that like would also not be beneficial to my health”, he added with a twinkle in his eyes now. “But rumours of me heading to your apartment after work are better?”, she grinned back not blushing at the innuendo in the slightest. “Now see that’s the great part, nobody knows about this little hideaway of mine”, he smiled, fondly looking around the apartment.

It was only a few hours later that Hermione declared it was time to go. She felt dizzy, but not in her usual panic attack/flashback kind of way – it was the good kind of dizzy. Also, she couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or something else that made her feel cosy and comfortable and warm all over, but she didn’t are about that all too much. Draco disappeared for a moment and returned with her coat and a little vial he handed to her, “A little potion I created specifically against wine hangovers” – he paused for a moment – “I’ve lost count of how many days this saved my day”. Hermione laughed, knowing that it was hinting at some issues Draco had, but that she knew by now he didn’t like to talk about. Unlike Ron, who loved to whine about his problems constantly, Draco was a healer through and through. He asked and listened to the other, but he kept his own issues well hidden away. Maybe it was everybody around him that had changed him from his whiny Hogwarts self to this current version of him. Maybe it was the healer’s education. Hermione wasn’t entirely sure, but she had to admit she liked it. It was a welcome change to her friends and her husband.

She put on her coat and then stood there awkwardly, not entirely sure of how to say goodbye now. A handshake seemed too distant between them after spending a whole afternoon spent drinking wine on his couch. And she didn’t appreciate cheek kisses in her private life at all, unless she was in France, where they were inevitable. Her own thought process was stopped by Draco hugging her with just the right amount of distance to make it feel appropriate and not awkwardly personal. “This was surprisingly fun”, she stated, once he pulled away after just the right amount of time. “I’ll try not to feel insulted by that”, he chuckled making her realise what she had actually said and how that could be easily misconstrued as an insult. She grinned at him and stated, “Who said it was anything but?” She was nearly out the door, when Draco’s voice called her to a halt, “If you want to repeat this, by the way, you are welcome here any time”. Hermione gave him another smile and an acknowledging nod and then apparated right there on the spot, back to the Burrow. Back to her husband, who loved her, but whom she had never loved in that way and a life that wasn’t what she had been promised over two decades ago.

* * *

 

She didn’t pick Draco up on that offer for a very long time. Because when she came home on that day, she had met Ron and he had informed her that she was in an exceptionally good mood and that he was happy for her. He had told her about his day and had whined about his problems with a trainee and how somebody had had the audacity to comment on his scars from the brains he had got a long time ago and although Hermione had stopped listening a long time ago, she felt much guiltier about it that time, because she wished for Ron to be a bit more like the man she had just met, although purely platonically. She decided that day that the bit of joy she would likely get out of chatting with Draco Malfoy over a few glasses of wine wasn’t worth the construct of lies she’d have to come up with to satisfy her husband’s curiosity about her sudden change in mood. So, Hermione did, what she did best and went back to being the humanoid machine she had become a long time ago, slaving away at work. With her full concentration on her work, she managed to push a notion all the way through to a law, which she had wanted to install the day she started working in the ministry, long before ever even considering becoming the Minister of Magic.

It was on a Wednesday that she finally changed her mind. The anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts was coming up and as much as she wanted to lock herself away, because it was also the anniversary of Fred’s death, she wasn’t allowed to. The week leading up to it was filled with social engagements, with ceremonials that she not only had to attend, but partly had to lead. But worse than the engagements she had to lead, because of her position as Minister of Magic were the ones she had to attend as part of the _Golden Trio._ It meant that everybody regarded them closely again and maybe this year would finally be the one, where she couldn’t fool people anymore. Maybe this would be the year that people compared her and Ron to Harry and Ginny and realised that something was off. Maybe this was the year Ron would finally admit defeat. “Not bloody likely”, Hermione muttered to herself sitting in her office. And it made her angry, more so than ever before. Because before she had been glad that Ron put up with her, the empty shell of a woman she was, but now she wanted to _feel_ again, and Ron couldn’t help her in that respect. She wanted to be excited by a person, wanted to long for their presence; She wanted to love again, and she had a suspicion she could to some extent.

Which was why she ended up packing up early and heading for the apartment she had last visited several weeks ago and had sworn to herself never to return to. She knocked on the door and was once again met by Draco, although this time he was wearing wizard appropriate robes and not sweatpants. She dearly missed those almost immediately, because they had made him a different person somehow. In sweatpants he hadn’t been Draco Malfoy, ex-death eater and outcast of the wizarding world, he had been Draco, the guy she got along with, because bitter and even more bitter matched apparently. Still, Hermione entered the apartment with conviction, which obviously left Draco a bit floored, and then asked, “Do you love Astoria?” Draco very slowly raised an eyebrow at that and closed the door softly before saying, “Why, hello, Hermione. It’s so lovely of you to come over without so much as a short notice”. She flinched at that guiltily and sunk down on the couch, muttering, “I’m sorry, it was a spontaneous decision. And you said I would always be welcome here”. “You are”, he sighed, sitting down opposite of her although with a healthy distance. By the sound of his voice, she could tell that he had gone into Healer-mode. He obviously assumed something was wrong with her. “I didn’t change my mind on that”, he continued, when Hermione didn’t take over, “But I was under the impression you had changed your mind on wanting to be welcomed”.

She nodded shamefully, because obviously Draco thought he had done something wrong, when he hadn’t. “So, about Astoria”, she hinted at her question from before and dared look up from her fingers again. His eyes were grey, as simple as that, and yet Hermione felt the ridiculous need to compare them to natural phenomena and equally stupidly poetic things. “I assume Astoria and my situation is somewhat comparable to yours, Hermione”, he answered, although he obviously seemed uncomfortable with saying those things outright. Draco Malfoy preferred helping other people with their problems nowadays to talking about his own that he couldn’t change anyway. “I also thought you were already aware of that”, he continued, still regarding her too closely for a normal conversation, although his eyes became less stormy with worry, “A sort of mutual understanding seemed established to me”. “It was”, Hermione muttered in reply, “It is”. And that was the first time she allowed herself to listen into herself, unafraid of memories of Fred that would engulf her, because if they did, a healer was right there with her and unafraid because of the guilt towards Ron she might find there, because she couldn’t feel any guiltier than she already did, sitting where she was. What she found, when looking for it, was something so small that it nearly disappeared in the chaos that was her emotions, but only nearly. It was affection, the sort she had thought to never feel again.

It was that fragile little blooming of affection that made her lean over on the couch until she was right in Draco’s space, her intentions as subconscious as they might be, perfectly clear. “This would be a mistake”, he whispered, but his hands weren’t pushing her away and his eyes weren’t afraid or disgusted. It was that sentence that pushed her over the edge, because she had last heard it so long ago and, yes, some would argue that it _had_ been a mistake, because it caused her so much pain, but to her it was clear that it had been the best decision of her life. Maybe that meant that she would only ever be happy, if she dared make mistakes. Ron hadn’t been a mistake, after all, he had been a perfectly reasonable choice and it had got her into the misery she was in now. It was the force of that memory and that thought process and a good amount of hope that made Hermione close the distance between Draco and her. Draco’s lips didn’t taste of anything poetic, but of red wine and salt. They kissed her back at full force, giving her permission to do as she pleased. Giving her permission to let that blooming of affection grow, while she let herself fall, metaphorically and literally as she landed on the couch with Draco on top of her. And, Merlin, did she hate herself for what she was doing, as she opened her lips to meet the other mouth even more forcefully and as she let her hands roam under those robes, but it was mixed bitter sweetly with the absolute delight of feeling _want._ She basked in that feeling, as she was carried to a bedroom and as she undressed Draco to reveal white skin that looked so unlike Fred that she nearly cried from happiness.

* * *

 

That week, Hermione felt alive like she hadn’t since Fred. When she finally had a day, where she could quite early, she had apparated directly in front of Draco’s apartment, before she had even registered what she was doing. The door was open after the first knock and she kissed Draco again, chasing that feeling of bliss she was getting from doing just that. This time, however, her partner wasn’t half as responsive, and she looked at him in astonishment. Maybe this had been a one-time thing for him and even the first time it had been her idea. “Hermione”, he said her name softly and it rested on his lips, nestled there in safety much like it had been with Fred. “Draco”, she answered his name, with a tint of amusement, because this felt slightly awkward and humour tended to help in those situations. “We can’t do this, Hermione”, he smiled at her miserably and it should have been a blow to her, but instead it was a quiet ache, like every part of her, except her consciousness had already prepared for it. “I will not divorce Astoria, if only to assure that my mother doesn’t die of a heart attack”, he stated, walking over to the bay window that overlooked the Thames, “And you will not end your marriage to Ron by having an affair with me”.

She wanted to protest, say that she needed to end her marriage with Ron anyway and that he deserved much better than her, but she stayed quiet instead, the words never making it past her lips. “I suppose you were right about the mistake thing”, she groaned, leaning on the doorframe she was still standing in and trying to ignore, how much Draco seemed to belong in a movie scene right now, with the light bathing him so prettily. “That, I doubt”, his voice made her look up. There was a grin on his features, a content one she might have argued, “It proved a theory I had” – Hermione gave him a more than sceptical look then – “The great Hermione Granger really can deal with everything”. Yeah, sure, she thought to herself and she supposed that her expression turned quite doubtful as well. “Hermione Granger stays strong. She’s never damaged, a beacon of hope in a world of chaos”, he grinned, and she wasn’t sure whether he was being ironic or honest, “Hermione Granger can witness the death of the man she loved and still somehow turn out ok”. Hermione flinched at that, at Fred’s death being mentioned to her face, which hardly anybody dared do. Draco walked over to her and gently opened the door behind her to show that she had best leave. “I’m not sure about all that, Draco”, she admitted as she took a step back into the corridor. “You’ll be ok, Granger”, he replied, and there was a bit of that old sneer of his in his voice, but more importantly, there was a genuine smile.

 _You’ll be ok, Granger._ And ok she was. It took some more time. It took finally talking to Ron and taking away that cocoon of illusion he had wrapped himself in. It took telling her children that their parents would separate. It took telling the whole world that the Weasley-Granger power couple was getting a divorce. It took crying at Fred’s grave and hiding away, when she saw Draco at a social engagement. It took living out a movie by moving to a small town next to London, where she got roses at a local flower shop and met a man smiling with all the force of the sun. It took twenty two years, but eventually, yes, Hermione was ok.


End file.
